It was what we will venture to call a vinous hour of the morning, when Mr. Jericho returned home after the dinner eaten abroad in defiance1 of his own household gods, we fear sadly despised upon the occasion. For Mr. Jericho, with accessory boon-fellows, had partaken of a luxurious2 repast; little caring that his own stinted3 lares were served with, at best, metaphoric4 cold mutton. Mr. Jericho had tested the best resources of the larder5 and cellar of the Apollo Tavern6; and full of meat and wine, and his brain singing with fantastic humours, he had surveyed the river Thames with simpering complacency; had seen big-bellied ships, stowed with India and Africa, drop silently with the tide towards their haven8. It was impossible to enjoy a serener9 evening or a nobler sight. The setting sun, with a magnificence quite worthy11 of the west-end, coloured all things gold and ruby12; the black hulls13 of ships glowed darkly and richly; and their sails were, for the time, from Tyrian looms14. The gorgeousness of the hour enriched every common object with glorious beauty. Every cold, mean common-place of the common day seemed suffused15 in one wide harmonious16 splendour. And the brain of Jericho, meditating17 the scene, was expanded and melted into it; and in that prodigal18 wealth of colour, the illusion a little assisted by the swallowed colours within him, Jericho felt himself a part and parcel of the absorbing richness. The wine in his heart, a Bacchus’ jack-o’-lantern, reflected the rosy20, golden light that came upon him.
This sweet illusion lasted its pleasant time, fading a little when the bill was rung for. Nevertheless, Jericho, by the force[Pg 12] of the scene and the wine, felt himself in much easier circumstances than the hard tyranny of truth, when he was in a calm condition to respect its dictum, was likely to allow. And so, at that hour when sparrows look down reproachfully from their eaves at the flushed man trying the street-door—at that penitential hour, with the hues21 of the past romantic evening becoming very cold within him—Mr. Jericho stood beneath his own oppressive roof.
Mrs. Jericho was gone to bed.
Mr. Jericho breathed a little lighter22. Such a load was taken off him, that he mounted the staircase tenderly, as though he trod upon flowers; as though every woollen blossom in the carpet from the stair to the bed itself was living heart’s-ease; which it was not.
Being somewhat ashamed of Mr. Jericho who, as it has been shown, left his wife to the solitude23 of her dinner-table, whilst he, luxurious spendthrift, could dine with company abroad,—we should be very happy if we could, without any more ado, put him to bed at once, and indignantly tucking him up, and with perhaps an allowed allusion24 to the sort of head that awaited him in the morning, let the good-for-nothing fellow snore till the curtain-rings danced again, allowing him only to wake up in time for the next chapter. But this we cannot do. The stern, iron moral it is our wish to impress upon the world—yielding as it always is to such impressions—compels us to steady Mr. Jericho to his bed-side; and even when there, not for awhile to leave him.
In the reproachful quietude of his dressing-room, Jericho prepared himself for his couch. Tenderly did his fingers dwell upon and wander about buttons. He caught a sight of himself in the looking-glass, and—to dodge25 his conscience—set himself to feign26 to whistle: and then it struck him it must be very, very late, his beard had grown so much. And the day in a moment seemed to have opened its broad, staring eye; and the sparrows cried more saucily28; and the reproachful voice of the pigeons perched upon the chimney-top, came down in muffled[Pg 13] murmur29 upon Solomon’s ear; and with a very little more he would have felt himself a villain30.
The culprit placed his hand upon the handle of the bed-room door. Had he been a burglar with a felonious intention upon Mrs. Jericho’s repeater, instead of the man responsible for the rent and taxes of the house in which he at that moment stood in his shirt and shuddered,—had he, we say, at that point of time been an unlawful thief in posse, in lieu of a lawful31 husband in esse, his knees—unless he had been a very young and sensitive rogue32 indeed—could not have so knocked together. With his face crumpled33 into a thousand lines, he opened the door. What a blessing34; the hinges did not that time creak, and before they always did! Assured by the omen27, Jericho took a little bit of heart. The night-light was winking35 its last. There was not a sound. The bed-curtains hung like curtained marble. Jericho paused, turning up his ear. Still not a sound. Sabilla did not ordinarily sleep so light. The stillness was peculiar—curious—very odd.
“And if my Lucy should be dead!”
At the moment Solomon Jericho, though he did not know it, was quite as much the author of that line as William Wordsworth. Still silent? Hush36! A gnat37 drones its tiny trump38 between the curtains. Ubi flos, ibi apis. Suddenly Jericho is assured; and with two long, soft strides, is at his own side of the bed. Sabilla is evidently in a sound, deep, sweet sleep. Untucking the bed, and making himself the thinnest slice of a man, Jericho slides between the sheets. And there he lies, feloniously still; and he thinks to himself—being asleep, she cannot tell how late I came to bed. At all events, it is open to a dispute; and that is something.
“Mr. Jericho, when can you let me have some money?”
With open eyes, and clearly ringing every word upon the morning air, did Mrs. Jericho repeat this primal39 question.
And what said Jericho? With a sudden qualm at the heart, and with thick, stammering40 tongue, he answered—“Why, my dear, I thought you were sound asleep.”
[Pg 14]
“I should be very happy if, like some people, I could sleep, Mr. Jericho. I should be very glad indeed if, like some people, I could leave the house and take my pleasure, and run into every sort of extravagance. But no! I must remain at home. But I tell you this, Mr. Jericho, I have made my mind up. Lying here, and being bitten by the gnats41 as I have been”—
“I’m sure, I’m very—very sorry”—
“Not you, indeed. No—no. You don’t care how I’m bitten; or, for that matter, who bites me. But that is not what I was going to say. What I was going to observe is this—Neither you nor any man in this world shall make a cat’s-paw of me.”
“Nothing but a cat’s-paw, and I’m not come to that. I was deceived at the altar,” said Mrs. Jericho: “grossly, shamefully43 played upon; and I have been deceived ever since.”
“For the matter of that,” cried Jericho, a little doggedly44, “I was deceived too. Of course, everybody said you’d money; and so I was deceived—grossly deceived,” cried Jericho, melting a little with a sense of his injury. “I don’t want to return to the subject, Mrs. Jericho. But of course I thought you rich.”
“Mercenary wretch45! If the girls were only stirring, I’d get up,” was the threat. “I’m sure it’s time.”
“Just as you like, Mrs. Jericho: only be good enough to let me go to sleep. Bed,” said Jericho, making himself vigorously up for rest, “bed isn’t the place to talk in.”
“I don’t wish to talk,” replied Mrs. Jericho, “I don’t wish to exchange a word with such a creature as you are. All I want to know is this—When can you let me have some money?”
“Money!” repeated Mrs. Jericho, with inexorable resolution.
“Mrs. Jericho,” said the husband, bolting himself upright in bed, and looking aside, down upon the face of his unmoved wife—“will you permit me to sleep, now I’ve come to my own[Pg 15] bed? I think it particularly hard when a man has been out all the day as I have been, toiling47 for his wife and family—I say I think it particularly hard”—
“I don’t want to prevent your sleeping, Mr. Jericho. Sleep as long as the sleeping beauty, and I’m sure I should be the last person to attempt to wake you. All I want to ask of you is what I asked in the morning. Nothing more. When shall I have some money?”
“Zounds, woman!”—cried Jericho.
“Don’t call me woman—man!” exclaimed Mrs. Jericho. “Major Pennibacker”—
“He was only a captain,” hiccupped Jericho.
“Major Pennibacker,” reiterated48 his widow, “a soldier and a gentleman, never called me woman yet. Glorious creature! His sword would rattle49 in its scabbard if he knew how I was treated.”
“Is this the time,” cried Jericho, a little fiercely, “the time to talk of swords and scabbards, with the sun shining in at the windows? Why can’t you let me go to sleep, and talk at the proper horns? After a man has been toiling and slaving for his wife and family”—
“No doubt. And I wonder how many wives—and how many families—that’s it!” cried Mrs. Jericho, with a strange, cutting significance, that instantly levelled her husband; for Solomon desperately50 stretched himself in the bed; and lugging51 the nightcap over his ears, turned round, determined52 upon plucking up sleep, like poppies, by the roots.
“I’m not to be deceived by your indignation, Mr. Jericho. I know everything, or else where could your money go to? However, as I said, I will no longer be made a cat’s-paw of. For eight years have I been married to you, under what I may call false pretences53. People called you the Golden Jericho, or is it likely that I could have forgotten the heroic man who—I feel it—has a slight put upon him in his warrior’s grave, by your being in the nightcap you wear at this moment? However, he forgives me. At least, I trust”—and Mrs. Jericho spoke54 with a spasm—“I[Pg 16] trust he does. It was all for the sake of his precious orphans55 that I am in the bed I am. Yes, Pennibacker”—and his widow cast up her eyes, as though addressing her first husband, looking down benignly56 upon her from the tester—“Yes, dear Pennibacker, you know for what I sacrificed the best of wives, and the most disconsolate57 of widows. I could have wished, like the Hindoo, to be burnt upon the pyre; I was equal to it; I could have rejoiced in it. But I re-married, unwillingly58 re-married, to sacrifice myself for our children. Yes, Pennibacker”—
“Damn Pennibacker!” cried Jericho.
“Mr. Jericho,” said Pennibacker’s widow, with her deepest voice, and with thunder brooding at her brows—“Mr. Jericho, will you dare to desecrate59 the ashes of the dead? Demon60! Will you?”
“Well, then,” said Jericho, a little appalled61, for an impartial62 circle had called Mrs. Jericho the Siddons of private life, she could so freeze her friends with her fine manner—“Well, then, let me go to sleep. It’s very hard, Mrs. Jericho; very hard, that you will always be throwing your husband’s ashes in my face.”
“No levity63, sir; no levity,” said Mrs. Jericho, very ponderously64. “Though unhappily I am your wife, I cannot forget that I am Miss Pennibacker’s widow.” And then Mrs. Jericho drew a sepulchral65 sigh; and then she hopefully added—“but he forgives me. However, as I believe I have observed once before, Mr. Jericho, I will no longer be made a cat’s-paw of.”
“Of course not. Why should you?” said Jericho. “I’m sure, for my part, I want a wife with as little of the cat as possible.” And then Jericho shrank in the bed, as though he had ventured too much.
Possibly Mrs. Jericho was too imperious to note the coarse affront66; for she merely repeated—“Very well, Mr. Jericho: all I want to know is this—I ask to know no more. When—when will you let me have some money?”
[Pg 17]
“I don’t wish to annoy you, Mr. Jericho,” said the woman, with dread68 composure. “But you compel me, gracious knows, much against my nature, to ask when—when will you let me have some money?”
“It is much more afflicting70 to my nature, much greater suffering to me to ask, than it can be for you to hear. Major Pennibacker never had a pocket to himself. He, dear fellow, always came to me. Ha! how few men can appreciate the true dignity of married life. As I always used to say,—one heart and one pocket. However, as it’s quite time for me to get up; and as I suppose you intend to go to sleep—and as people will be here, and I must give them an answer of some sort,—permit me, Mr. Jericho, to ask you—I’m sure it’s painful enough to my feelings, and I feel degraded by the question—nevertheless, I must and will ask you,—when will you let me have some money?”
Jericho—as though a dagger71 had been suddenly struck up through the bed—bounced bolt upright. There was a supernatural horror in his look: even his own wife, familiar as she was with his violence, almost squealed72. However, silently eyeing him through the small murderous loop-holes of her lace border, Mrs. Jericho saw her pale-faced husband snatch off his cap, holding it away at arm’s length: then, breathing hard and casting back his head, he cried in tones so deep and so unnaturally73 grating, that the poor woman, like a night-flower, shrank within herself at the first sound,—
“I wish to Heaven I was made of money!”
Mrs. Jericho, considerably74 relieved that it was no worse, added in a low, deep, earnest voice—“I wish to Heaven you were.”
Foolish and wicked wishes do not fly upwards75, but there is no doubt of it, descend76 below; where, though they are but bodiless syllables77, they are often fashioned by the imps78 into pins and needles, and straightway returned to the world to torment79 their begetter80.
And Solomon Jericho, with a silly, sinful wish at his heart—a[Pg 18] wish further emphasised by the thoughtless amen of his wife—subsided into muddled81 sleep; snoring heavily, contemptuously, at the loneliness of his spouse82. She, poor woman, lay awhile, silently struggling with her indignation. At length, however, her feelings growing too strong for her, she got up the better to wrestle83 with them.
And Jericho was left alone—alone in bed? Not alone. He had desperately fitted his night-cap to his head, and resolute84 upon sleep, had punched his head deep, deep into his pillow. Mrs. Jericho would have doubted her eyes had she seen the creatures in her house; but standing85 upon a ridge86 of her husband’s night-cap, and looking wisely down upon her husband’s dreaming face, were two fleas88. An elder and a younger flea87.
Their ancestors had come from the far East, and carried the best royal blood within them. It would be no difficult matter to trace them up to the court of king Crœsus, whither they were first brought in the cloak of Æsop. Let it suffice, that from this Lydian stock descended89 the two fleas, at the time of our story, perched—like ruminating90 goats upon a ledge91 of rock—upon the night-cap of Jericho. Their progenitors92 had not come in, like many others, with the Conquest; but were brought to England in the train of a Persian Ambassador. After a wandering life, the race remained for some forty years comfortably settled in a lodging-house at Margate, bringing up a multitudinous family. From this stock came our two fleas, travelling, cosily93 enough, to London. How from the Apollo Tavern, where they first put up on their arrival in the metropolis94, they made their way to the home of Jericho, passes our knowledge to declare. Very sure we are, that Mrs. Jericho believed she had no such creatures in her house.
Well, the two fleas having jumped upon the brow of Jericho, we shall, without any scruple95, make use of them. They stand above the brain of the sleeper96, and—being descended from the fleas of Æsop—shall, for the nonce, be made to narrate97 to the reader the vision of the dreaming victim.
[Pg 19]
“Miserable race!”—said the father flea, with its beautiful bright eye shining pitifully upon Jericho—“Miserable craving99 race! You hear, my son; man, in his greed, never knows when he has wherewithal. He gorges100 to gluttony, he drinks to drunkenness; and you heard this wretched fool, who prayed to heaven, to turn him—heart, brain and all—into a lump of money. Happily, it is otherwise with fleas. We take our wholesome101, our sufficient draught102, and there an end. With a mountain of enjoyment103 under our feet, we limit ourselves to that golden quantity—enough.”
“Therefore, oh, my sire, let us not, for our temperance, be gluttonous104 of self-praise. Seeing that fleas are the crowning work of the world; seeing that as sheep, and bullocks, and fish and fowl105 are made for man, and man for us; let us be charitable towards our labouring servant,—poor biped; our cook and butler.”
“My son, true it is, man feeds for us, drinks for us. Man is the labouring chemist for the fleas; for them he turns the richest meats and spiciest106 drinks to flea wine. Nevertheless, and I say it with much pain, man is not what he was. He adulterates our tipple107 most wickedly.”
“I felt it with the last lodgers,” said the younger flea. “They drank vile108 spirits: their blood was turpentine, with, I fear me, a dash of vitriol. How they lived at all, I know not. I always had the head-ache in the morning. Here, however”—and the juvenile109 looked steadfastly110 down upon the plain of flesh, the wide champain beneath him—“here, we have promise of better fare.”
“The soil is woundily hot; hard, and dry, and hot as a volcano; and—mercy me,” cried the elder, “how it throbs111 and heaves. Hark!”—and the flea inclined its right ear—“the fellow’s brain sings like a kettle. Now is he going off into a galloping112 dream. Our ancestors—some of whom, my son, as I have often told you, lived the bosom113 friends of conjurors and soothsayers—were, as many of their descendants are at the present day, to be met with amongst fortune-tellers and gypsies—our[Pg 20] ancestors had the gift of following a dream in all its zig-zag mistiness114. And the wisdom of our ancestors”—and here the flea raised itself upon its legs, and looked with a serene10 pride about it—“the wisdom of our ancestors has come down in its fullness upon myself; to be left, my dear child, whole and unimpaired, and I may add, unimproved to you.”
“What a sight is this,” cried the young flea, staring at Jericho’s face. “What an earthquake must be tumbling and rumbling115 in the fellow’s heart; and how his teeth clang together! Is that thunder? No. But did you ever hear such snoring?”
“In a minute, my son, and he’ll be in the thick of it. Attend; and I’ll follow him through the maze116; showing you all the odd things that shower up and down in his brain, just as the golden air-bubbles of yesterday sparkled in his wine-glass. But first, my child, let us drink.” Saying this, the elder flea, raising itself pretty well upright, and with its strong claws taking a firm hold of the flesh beneath, for better purchase, struck its lance home, and opening its shoulders, drew up, with its sucker, such a hearty117 draught of drink, that Jericho, the unconscious cup-bearer, gave a sudden twist, so deep and hearty was the pull of the drinker. “Very good; very good, indeed,” said the flea. “There’s a fine delicate bouquet118 in it.”
“Humph,” cried the younger flea, “for my part, I think ’twould bear a little more body. But, my sire, as I’ve heard you say, there’s no judging truly from the first cup. Here goes again. Why, how the fellow kicks!”
“Such, my son,” said the elder flea, “is man: such his wastefulness119 upon himself, such his injustice120 to what—cocking his nose towards the stars—he calls the lower animals. At least, two bottles of wine, a gill or more of brandy, to say nothing of a draught or two of malt, are burning in his arteries121, and in hot mist rising to his brain. Now, what work, what watching, what risk of limb and life—what multiplication122 of toil—to produce the various beverage123 he has guzzled124! What digging and ploughing of the land; what vine-dressing; what sailing upon the stormy seas; what glass-blowing; what bottling, before the [Pg 21]liquor, like a melted jewel, shone in his eye, and trickled125 down his throat! Yet here he lies, and with no conscious labour of his own, is at once the wine-press and distiller for the fleas. And when we seek to take our temperate126 draught—smallest drops; merest seed-rubies—how the miser98 kicks, and flounders, and when he has sense enough, what wicked words at times he pitches at us! But such”—said the elder flea, preparing itself for another stoup—“such is man.” And again the flea pierced the wine-skin, and sucked up another draught, and again Jericho plunged127, and twisted.
“The bin19 improves,” said the younger flea, drinking very hard. “And yet, I’m sure there’s burgundy in it. Now, never but twice before have I tasted burgundy; and then I suffered for it; just as if the grapes were grown on a soil of sulphur. Nevertheless, ’tis a rare cellar this, after the turpentine and vitriol of our last lodgings128: so, hang the headache, and let’s have t’ other bumper129.”
“Not another drop,” cried the elder flea. “Let the poor wretch beneath us teach us moderation. Consider his face. How dead and stupified it looks! How it shone above the table last night; and what a piece of dirty dough130 it looks at this moment! What light was in the lamp, and now what dullness and smoke!”
“And yet,” said the younger flea, “the dough begins again to work. Surely, he’s on with his dream now.”
“Now, he’s fairly off. A while ago, and the brain was only fluttering—like a bird trying its wings—but now, yes—now it’s off. Ha! ha! A very droll131 dream, even so far as it goes;” and the old flea looked very wise.
“Tell it, father; tell it. You never told me a dream before: surely,” said the young one, “I’m old enough to learn now.”
“Listen, my son, and be instructed. The sleeping man is at this moment following his heart. The thing has been plucked out of his bosom by a laughing little creature, with painted wings: a strange creature, half-elfin half-angel. The elf, or angel, or whatever it is, hugs the heart in its plump arms, and[Pg 22] its eyes twinkle with mischief132, and its cheeks are pitted with dimples, and its lips pout133 as over-full of the fun that will rise to them; and still away the child carries the heart.”
“And the man!—Where’s the man that owns it? Still following?” asked the young flea.
“Still following, and in a pretty pucker134 about his property. But, my son, be silent; and do not interrupt me. The elf, still flying with the heart, is now in the open country. A peaceful, quiet spot. Beautiful meadows, starred with daisies. Ha! they remind me of a scene of early youth. That green velvet135 quilt sprinkled with little silver flowers—the quilt of the sweet Princess of Satinskin—that sweet, beautiful quilt in the palace of”—
“Never mind the palace,” said the young flea. “You are now in the open country; keep to the meadow.”
And the elder flea, rebuked136, proceeded. “There’s cattle and sheep in the meadows; and the boy, in sport, flies and flutters above them. And now he jumps from lamb’s back to lamb’s back, and the man still following, with all his eyes watching his heart, that the little elf, in the wildest fun, tosses up, like a ball in the air, catching137 it again, and again tossing it up, and”—
“I should guess something odd,” said the young flea: “for how the fellow here kicks; and how his face is broken into moving hills and vallies. How he moans, too, about his heart. Poor devil!”
“And now, the little imp7 trips across a bridge, that leads to a large wooden building—still in the open country. He runs into the building, the fellow following him, as though now he was sure of getting his heart back again. Not a bit. The youngster throws the heart to a strange-looking woman; a sort of Egyptian fortune-teller,—and she, with a sharp glittering knife, begins to cut the heart into little pieces.”
“Oh, ho! Look at his face,” cried the young flea. “And if he doesn’t shift and twist like a worm on a hook!”
“The woman cuts the heart into small pieces, and the owner[Pg 23] of the heart—how his knees twitch138 up and down, and how his head rolls upon the pillow, at every touch of the knife—at length sits down in a sort of curious despair to see what will become of his heart. And now, he looks about him—yes, he knows he is in a paper-mill. And strangely enough appears to him a kind of living history of the rise and progress of paper. He sees the flags of Egypt growing in a ditchy nook—and red Egyptians pulling and peeling it. And here flourishes a field of bamboo, and here a Chinaman, with his side-long almond eyes, cuts and shreds139 the skin from the bark. And the dreamer seeing his heart in bits tossed into a trough, is suddenly smitten141 with the sense that his heart, the great machine and blood-pump of his life, is to be made into paper. He tries to protest against the injury. He tries to roar out, but not a word will come. He sits straining and gasping142, and dumb withal, as a caught fish. And now, he sees the bits of his heart curiously143 sorted by these hags of women; gloomy and wild as sybils,—for, my son, I know what sort of folk sybils are from the wisdom of my ancestors; our great forefathers144 having been closely entertained by them.”
“Go on, father: I’m impatient to know what they make of the heart,” cried the younger flea.
“The women, with sharp hooks, pick out the little knots and hard bits from the heart, and then souse the sorted stuff into boding145 water: and then they cut the bits with a turning thing toothed with knives; cut it and shred140 it; and now what was a fine, firm, full-weight heart, labouring in and through life, in the bosom of this wretched tipsiness below us, is soft and liquid as a dish of batter146. Nevertheless, bating a chalky paleness in the fellow’s face, he seems to do as well without his heart as with it.”
“But it can’t last, father; it can’t last. He must have something of a heart to live,” said the young flea.
“Be patient a minute, and you shall learn. Now, one of the hags scoops147 the batter edgewise into a little frame and shakes it and—presto!—all is done: the heart of the dreamer is worked up into I know not how many sheets—but there seems a lumping lot—a lumping lot of the finest and whitest paper.”
[Pg 24]
“Poor devil, I say again. He can’t live with that; he can’t go through life with a heart of paper.”
“Don’t interrupt me. Whilst you spoke, everything changed. At this moment, the imp that vanished when he threw the heart to the hags, now carries it in a square bundle upon his head; laughing and skipping along London streets; and the man without a heart still following his tormenter. My son, the imp and the man are now going up Ludgate Hill”—
“Do you know the place?” asked the younger flea.
“Perfectly well; many years ago—for what a vulgar error it is to think fleas short-lived—many years ago, I walked on a Lord Mayor’s day.”
“Walked!” cried the young flea.
“Walked; that is, was carried in the miniver fur of the alderman of the Fishmongers’ Company; and upon my life, a very noble sight it was. Yes, my child, I think I ought to remember that show, for it was on that very day, in that very miniver, I first met your poor mother. Ha! that was a happy day—and we saw all the fun from the beginning to the end; for we contrived149 to get upon the alderman, and sitting close and keeping quiet—for that’s an art fleas have to learn, if they would see, and not in the end be seen—sitting close in the nape of the alder148 man’s neck, we were present at the banquet. I shall never forget the beautiful sight we had, when the alderman got upon his legs to make a speech. Well, we were carried home and put to bed with the alderman, and from that time”—
“Never mind the alderman,” cried the pert young flea, “but get on from Ludgate-Hill.”
“While I’ve talked, the imp and the man have gone round St. Paul’s, and are now crossing into Cheapside. Shall I ever forget how, when we came to Cheapside, the giants—well, I won’t think of that now. The imp with the load of paper on his head runs by Bow-Church, and the dreamer here stretches after him. My son, both imp and man,” said the flea solemnly, “both imp and man have now entered the Bank of England.”
[Pg 25]
“The Bank of England!” repeated the young flea, impressed by the sudden seriousness of its parent.
There was a short pause. The elder flea, a little dry in the mouth with so much talking, again inserted its piercer in the skin beneath it, and drew up another glass of flea wine. And in this the son dutifully imitated the father.
“The imp,” continued the elder flea, much refreshed by the draught, “the imp has entered the Bank printing-office. The man without the heart, the poor wretch wriggling150 and moaning under our feet, resignedly drops upon a stool. He sits wringing151 his hands for his lost heart; and now his veins152 tingle153, for he hears the creaking of presses. Their motion seems, strangely enough, his motion. And now, the imp that had vanished, comes back again, bringing in his arms the poor man’s heart.”
“It can’t be of any use to him, now,” said the younger flea.
“Of the best use, my child, as he thinks it. The imp jumps upon the man’s knee, and the heart—it has lost its red colour, and its flesh-like look, and as though all the blood had been discharged from it, is white as a rag, save that the veins show through it all black—yes, black as ink; the heart, nicely fitted by the imp, beats again in its place inside the sleeper. You see! how he smiles—and how his whole body heaves with the chuckle—as he again feels the old acquaintance. And now he can’t make too much of the imp; he throws his arms about him, and paws his little cheeks in drunken fondness. You hear! You hear, how the laugh gurgles in the fool’s throat,—and all because he’s got his heart back again.”
“And now, as the dream’s over, father—what say you to another drink?” asked the young flea.
“In a minute, for ’tisn’t over yet. No. The place is changed, and the sleeper is carried to see what appears to him Gold’s Grand Review in the Bank cellars.”
“What do you mean by Gold’s Review?” demanded the junior.
“The imp and the dreamer are in the Bank Cellars. Here, my son, in mighty154 bars—in bars that can break even the backs[Pg 26] of emperors—is gold. The imp takes a new sovereign piece from its bosom, and holds it above its head. Like a small golden sun, it illumines the place. Whereupon, all the bars of gold become pigmy shapes, and all in action. Here we have a whole army—all in gold—marching, wheeling, forming into lines and squares. Here we have little golden shipwrights155 hammering at golden craft; here, cooks of gold sweating at golden dainties; here, in the cellar, all the works and labours, the commands and services of the world, are shown by the imp in action—drawn into life, for a brief space, from what was a moment before bars of inert156 metal. It is, my son, as if all the world outside of the walls of the Bank, was imitated by the world’s masters down in the Bank cellars. I can see the Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen in little men of gold not bigger than an Alderman’s thumb: and here they act in the metal itself what the metal makes acted in the flesh outside.”
“And for what purpose—I don’t see the use of it,” said the young flea.
“As a farewell show to our dreamer here. And he is mightily157 pleased with it,—for he rubs his hands, and then rubs his heart as though he found all happiness there.”
“And has he found it, think you?” asked the youngster.
“Humph! That will be seen,” said the old one.
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收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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2
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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3
stinted
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| v.限制，节省（stint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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4
metaphoric
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| adj. 使用隐喻的；比喻的；比喻意义的 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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6
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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7
imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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8
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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9
serener
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| serene（沉静的，宁静的，安宁的）的比较级形式 | |
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10
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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11
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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12
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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13
hulls
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| 船体( hull的名词复数 )； 船身； 外壳； 豆荚 | |
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14
looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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15
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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17
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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18
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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19
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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20
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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21
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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22
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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23
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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24
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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25
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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26
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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27
omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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28
saucily
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| adv.傲慢地，莽撞地 | |
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29
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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30
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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31
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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32
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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33
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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34
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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35
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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36
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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37
gnat
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| v.对小事斤斤计较，琐事 | |
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38
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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39
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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40
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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41
gnats
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| n.叮人小虫( gnat的名词复数 ) | |
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42
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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43
shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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44
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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45
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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46
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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47
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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48
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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50
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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51
lugging
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| 超载运转能力 | |
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52
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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53
pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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54
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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55
orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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56
benignly
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| adv.仁慈地，亲切地 | |
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57
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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58
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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59
desecrate
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| v.供俗用，亵渎，污辱 | |
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60
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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61
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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62
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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63
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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64
ponderously
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65
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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66
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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67
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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69
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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70
afflicting
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| 痛苦的 | |
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71
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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72
squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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74
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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75
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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76
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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77
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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78
imps
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| n.（故事中的）小恶魔( imp的名词复数 )；小魔鬼；小淘气；顽童 | |
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79
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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80
begetter
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| n.生产者，父 | |
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81
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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82
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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83
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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84
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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85
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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86
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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87
flea
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| n.跳蚤 | |
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88
fleas
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| n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 )；爱财如命；没好气地（拒绝某人的要求） | |
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89
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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90
ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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91
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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92
progenitors
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| n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 )；先驱；前辈；原本 | |
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93
cosily
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| adv.舒适地，惬意地 | |
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94
metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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95
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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96
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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97
narrate
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| v.讲，叙述 | |
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98
miser
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| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
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99
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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100
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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101
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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102
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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103
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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104
gluttonous
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| adj.贪吃的，贪婪的 | |
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105
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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106
spiciest
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| adj.用香料调味的( spicy的最高级 )；有香料味的；有刺激性的；（故事、新闻等） 刺激的 | |
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107
tipple
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| n.常喝的酒；v.不断喝，饮烈酒 | |
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108
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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109
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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110
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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111
throbs
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| 体内的跳动( throb的名词复数 ) | |
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112
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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113
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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114
mistiness
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| n.雾，模糊，不清楚 | |
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115
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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116
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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117
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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118
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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119
wastefulness
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| 浪费，挥霍，耗费 | |
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120
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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121
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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122
multiplication
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| n.增加，增多，倍增；增殖，繁殖；乘法 | |
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123
beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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124
guzzled
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| v.狂吃暴饮，大吃大喝( guzzle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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126
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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127
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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128
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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129
bumper
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| n.(汽车上的)保险杠；adj.特大的，丰盛的 | |
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130
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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131
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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132
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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133
pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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134
pucker
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| v.撅起，使起皱；n.（衣服上的）皱纹，褶子 | |
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135
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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136
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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138
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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139
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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140
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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141
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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142
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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143
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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144
forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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145
boding
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| adj.凶兆的，先兆的n.凶兆，前兆，预感v.预示，预告，预言( bode的现在分词 )；等待，停留( bide的过去分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待 | |
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146
batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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147
scoops
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| n.小铲( scoop的名词复数 )；小勺；一勺[铲]之量；（抢先刊载、播出的）独家新闻v.抢先报道( scoop的第三人称单数 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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148
alder
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| n.赤杨树 | |
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149
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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150
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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151
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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152
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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153
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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154
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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155
shipwrights
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| n.造船者，修船者( shipwright的名词复数 ) | |
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156
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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157
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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